PUBG: PlayerUnknown's Story
by Sir Axaroth
Summary: In the year 2023, aspiring fighters are given the opportunity to join PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds, a contest where one man (or woman) must fight 100 other contestants to the death and be the last man standing. This is PlayerUnknown's story, where, in addition to winning the coveted chicken dinner, he also finds, for the first time, love... (heh, weren't expecting THAT, were you)
1. Landing

The air in the old, slightly rusty C-130 cargo plane was thick with tension.

All hundred of us knew that only one of us would be able to return, to win the coveted reward that we all vied for.

And I was determined to win it, at any cost.

Unlike my other trips to the arena, no one had tapped my shoulder, asking to team up, or even to say hello. Instead, we all sat in thoughtful silence, eyes averted from each other. All hundred of us were seasoned veterans of the games, and we knew that glimpsing a rival's humanity, even knowing his voice or name, would cause us to hesitate in pulling the trigger.

I had lost count of how many battles I had won. All I remembered was that one fateful day, two years ago, I had been selected by the government as a rookie fighter in the games. The Battlegrounds, they called it. And ever since then, I had made history. I was the undefeated champion, the previously unknown conqueror. After my tenth victory, in both solos and squads, they elected to name the games after me, in my honour.

PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by the deafening grinding of the opening bay doors.

"We are approaching the Battleground arena," a female voice boomed. "Please take your parachute, smartcuff, and approved possessions from the overhead bin above your head, excluding weapons, and jump when necessary. Pushing others off the plane or sabotaging their equipment before deployment is strictly forbidden, and severe consequences await those who do so. Only one of you will return from this Battleground. Best of luck, and remember: winner, winner, chicken dinner."

The speakers then shut off with a resonant 'click'.

I strapped my smartcuff, a waterproof, rugged watch which would show my current location on the arena map, kill count, and the number of survivors left in the arena, onto my wrist, as the rest of my rivals were doing with theirs. I then pushed the crown of the watch, activating a hologram of the map. Figuring out where the best landing spot was, I decided on my usual area: a small cluster of houses near Yasnaya-Polyana, which would hopefully have enough loot for me to get by with for the first few days. That way, I wouldn't be thrust into the thick of the action, and for a few days, I would be safe from the blue force field that would move further into the arena as the game slowly drew to a close.

"1 kilometre away.", I muttered to myself, keeping my voice low and gravelly. If the others knew my plan, I would be a dead man walking. Scratch that, I wouldn't even be given a chance to walk; they would just shoot me out of the sky above the island.

I watched as the rest buttoned their shirts, strapped on their parachutes, whispered their prayers, and jumped towards the clear blue sky to their landing zones. I had to admit, the sky was beautiful, perfectly complementing the rolling forests and farmland below. No one would have guessed that a literal war was occurring in the midst of such otherworldly beauty.

On second thoughts, that may have been why the government decided to host the Battlegrounds on islands like Erangel and Sanhok.

My smartcuff then gave two long beeps, signalling that it was finally my turn to jump.

Breathing deeply, I zipped my green hooded parka over a plain black tank top, which I had worn in every Battleground since my first. No trousers; I had never won one from the Battleground supply boxes, so I would have to snag a pair from one of the abandoned houses when I landed. Finally, I grabbed my dark green parachute from under the seat and strapped it effortlessly onto my back. I gazed hungrily at the patchwork of scenery below me; there was a chance that I would never see it again.

"God, if you're there, help me," I whispered.

And I leapt into the sky.


	2. Arrival

Well, crap. When I wrote this, I seriously wasn't expecting anyone to notice this. I actually posted this as a joke, so, thanks for reading this! From now on, you can expect semi-regular uploads, about once every two weeks.

Once again, thanks so much!

* * *

The jump, for me anyway, was always more terrifying than the actual Battleground.

The moment I made the leap, I inwardly started cursing. Even after probably almost a hundred Battlegrounds, I still hadn't conquered my lifelong fear of heights.

It was strange, the best and most famous player of the Battlegrounds, afraid of heights. Raucous laughter ensued in my post-victory interviews whenever I mentioned that fact. But honestly, I guess everyone has their fatal flaw.

"Deep breaths, Blake.," I thought to myself, slowly and calmly. "Remember what Heathcliff taught you. You have a parachute. You won't die."

The words of Heathcliff, my Battleground instructor, rang inside my head.

"Alright, pancakes!", he had yelled gruffly. "The moment you get off the plane, glide to your landing zone. Release your chutes at 200 to 150 feet above the ground! Any more than that, you'll be easy pickings for the guys on the ground. Any less than that.. , well, you'll be literal pancakes."

Following his instructions, I glided, positioning myself almost directly above the lifeless town. I could now see the familiar red and blue rooftops of Erangel's estates. Despite my fear, it was still somewhat exhilarating, flying like a bird in the skies above the tranquil arena. I had always wanted to fly as a child, and I could finally fulfil that dream in the Battlegrounds.

"200 feet, 180 feet, 160 feet... Now!", I yelled, pulling the parachute release string.

I felt the reassuring tug of the parachute against my body as it expanded outwards, slowing my fall. I sighed with relief as I slowly drifted in the air, and there was nothing else I could do but admire the view and wait for when I approached the ground.

The moment my feet brushed against the thick, unkempt grass, I tucked my head into my shoulder and rolled across the ground. I then stood up, folded my parachute into its container, slung it onto my back, and immediately made my way towards a promising two-storey house nearby, knowing that there would be at least some equipment inside. Weapons, clothes, first aid kits, even frying pans if you were truly lucky... They would make the difference between life and death.

As I approached, I saw that the door was slightly ajar, a surefire sign that someone was inside. I clenched my fists, knowing that I might have to fight for the valuable gear.

Not making a sound, I crept into the house. A single loaded P1911 handgun lay on the floor, and I took it gratefully. There was nothing else; the other player must have taken the rest of the provisions. I could have left with the pistol and checked another house for more ammo and gear, but that wasn't how I operated. If I didn't kill the other person in the house, here and now, he would have no qualms about killing me later in the game.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I slowly climbed up the stairs. As I neared the top, I saw him; a young, fair-haired kid, barely out of college, busy packing his acquired gear into a Level 1 beige backpack, a loaded AKM rifle slung on his back.

This was always the hardest part of the Battlegrounds; pulling the trigger that would end someone's life. Whenever I did it, a part of my soul left me, and a part of theirs took its place. The fact that I was taking away someone's son, brother, boyfriend, a man's aspirations, everything he lived for... Was the loss of life even necessary? The indecision, the pain and guilt that came with pulling the trigger... it was almost enough to make me stop fighting.

"The chicken," I thought, and my resolve hardened.

With a steady hand, I raised my P1911 up to eye level. I unlocked the safety, checked the clip, and closed one eye, aiming at the target's head.

He was still oblivious to his impending demise.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner," I muttered.

And I fired.

I left the house well-equipped and ready. My parachute, which I could use as a sleeping bag, was now packed into the Level 1 backpack, along with the now-dead fighter's gear. There was a first aid kit, 5 rolls of bandages, two boxes of 7.62 ammunition, a suppressor and red-dot scope for the AKM, some canned food, energy drinks, and a 2 litre Thermos flask, which I had filled with water from the kitchen sink. I had also looted his corpse for equipment, and I left with his AKM rifle, fully loaded and attached with the suppressor and scope, a Level 2 military vest, and, thankfully, a pair of combat pants, which fitted me well. I would search for a helmet later, to guard against headshots.

I was ready to make my move.

My priority in the arena, as Heathcliff had told me all those years ago, was to find shelter, preferably in a secluded part of the woods. As much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn't camp in the house. The likelihood of a player sneaking in to find gear was too great. So I took the best option: I would make my way to the woods neighbouring the town, find a good spot to set up camp, and hope I wasn't killed at any stage of the plan.

It was a long, arduous walk to the forest, which was near Pochinki, across Erangel's sunny, grassy plains. There may have once been a great river stretching through the island, back when it was bustling with people, but droughts had dried up the river to a tiny, barely trickling stream in the fields. There were no crops in the fields that I could raid, and I was extremely thankful for the provisions from the house.

Suddenly, while I was a few feet away from the forest and shelter, I heard gunshots, and I could literally feel bullets whizzing past my head. One of them found its mark and burrowed into my leg, almost forcing me to scream due to the pain.

I instinctively rolled to the side, gritting my teeth, and moved into a prone position, hiding myself behind a nearby boulder in the tall grass. As I hurriedly wrapped some bandages around my calf to heal the wound and stem the blood flow, I scanned the grassy landscape, looking for the mystery shooter.

I felt a surge of fear, knowing that this faceless gunner, a man (or woman) who I didn't even know, could end my life at any moment. It was nothing new, as I had experienced this many times before, during my previous Battlegrounds, but I had always been able to quickly locate the shooter. However, this particular shooter seemed to be a ghost.

Luckily, after what felt like an eternity later, I eventually found the shooter, who was crouching under a window in a house a few metres away.

Whoever he was, he was skilled and experienced. He was invisible hiding under the window, and his skills were lethal. In fact, if it wasn't for one tiny mistake on his part, and my experiences in previous Battlegrounds, I would probably have died in that field.

He had left the tip of his M416 exposed, marking his position, and his downfall.

I smirked as I unslung my AKM and waited for him to stand. When he did, I quickly aimed at his upper torso. I then pulled the trigger.

He didn't even have time to blink before he fell back and crumpled onto the floor. My smartcuff then vibrated, confirming that I had killed him.

"Bad luck, son," I said, shaking my head as I ran inside the house, climbed the stairs, and checked his bloody corpse by the window, which was well-equipped. Apart from his M416, he had a Level 2 helmet and vest, a medkit, another first aid kit, 15 rolls of bandages, a bottle of painkillers, and about 100 extra rounds of 5.56mm ammunition. I gratefully looted all the gear, strapped the M416 on my back, and hastily shoved everything else into my bag. I would rearrange everything later, after I had found safety and shelter.

As my adrenaline slowly faded away, I realised that I felt more tired than I had been in a while, since my last Battleground three months ago. The civilian lifestyle I had been living for the past few months had affected me, dulled my survivalist nature.

Moving slowly, I jumped out of the window, landed on my feet, and trudged exhaustedly into the welcoming arms of the dense forest.


End file.
